


As You Are

by shamebucket



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, First Kiss, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamebucket/pseuds/shamebucket
Summary: They say the old Victorian house on 167 Oak Street is cursed.
Relationships: Introverted Kind Male Human/Misunderstood Male Ghost
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	As You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



They say the old Victorian house on 167 Oak Street is cursed, so Mike was able to buy it at a pretty decent price. Sure, it might be a little run down (seeing as it hasn't been lived in for almost fifteen years), but it's nothing a little elbow grease won't fix. Mike feels optimistic about the whole thing, even though his realtor told him to stay the fuck away from this place (paraphrased, but Mike prefers straightforwardness). It helps that it's on the outskirts of town and that it'll give Mike a reason to stay busy for the next... well, next _forever_ , given how much work needs to get done. Being out in large crowds is often unpleasant - too many bright, flashing lights and sudden noises that make Mike's skin burn in discomfort. He doesn't hate people - not at all - but he hates the side effects often inherent in being around them. The predictability of being alone is peaceful, and Mike likes working with his hands. He's not quite as strong as he was in his twenties, but he can still do construction work without much difficulty, despite being almost fifty years old. He'll stay occupied, and he thinks he won't feel a pang of loneliness for a while. 

The wallpaper is peeling, there's dust and grime covering every surface, and he's going to need to replace all the appliances. This doesn't faze him much. He stands in the middle of the kitchen and takes in the scene. At least there's no signs of any sort of pests - which is probably a miracle, considering how long this house has been untouched. Cursed, Mike's ass. This house is blessed. The room where he set up a sleeping bag doesn't even look that bad. People say all kinds of crazy stuff about things they don't understand. Mike gets this, too. He's been there. 

The door to the kitchen slowly creaks closed, the doorknob clicking into place as it shuts. 

Mike's been around the block a couple of times, and he's... sensitive to things. Sensitive in a lot of ways, he guesses, which hurts him just as much as it helps him, but sensitive all the same. "Someone there?" he asks. "Don't worry, I'm not mad." 

For several moments, all Mike can hear is the gust of wind outside rattling the windows. He's going to have to replace them; they're definitely not to code anymore. 

Then, something pops and crackles. If Mike didn't know any better, then he'd think that something in the fridge burst, but it's empty and turned off. When Mike reaches out, his hand passes through a patch of air that's unnaturally cold. 

"Hope you don't mind that I'm living here. Guess you could say that we're roomies now. I'm, uh, a bit eccentric," he says sheepishly, "but I'll make sure to not touch anything that you don't want me to touch. Let's respect each other, okay? I don't get the feeling that you're evil." 

The ghost seems to consider this for a moment. It's times like this where Mike wishes that he could see ghosts instead of just sensing them. Then, he hears a faint knock at the door, and the door opens. Seems like the ghost (guy? Mike thinks they're male but he's not sure) doesn't hold a grudge, which is a good sign. 

The rest of the evening is uneventful. Mike gets the feeling that he's being watched with mild curiosity, but he doesn't press anything. He's kind of tired from hauling cardboard boxes into the living room, so all he's doing today is trying to make sure that the sink is clean and usable. He orders pizza for dinner, and then retires to his new bedroom once the sun has started to set. 

He didn't choose the master as his bedroom - for some reason, he's always found smaller rooms much more comfortable. Less room for messes, and all he needs in his room is a bed, anyway. He'll get a new bed in a few days, but for now it almost feels like a sleepover. He snorts. When was the last time he went on one of those? Back when he was in Boy Scouts? Mike rolls on his side and holds onto a blanket, counting down from one hundred. It's a ritual that has never failed him when falling asleep. 

When he reaches forty two, a cold presence slides into his arms and he falls asleep.

~*~

Mike doesn't dream often, so it takes him a minute to realize what's happening. The house that he bought is as it was over a hundred years ago, or so he'd guess - the walls are painted in intricate patterns, there's beautifully crafted hardwood furniture everywhere, and there's not a single shred of plastic in sight. He's no longer sleeping in his sleeping bag, either; he's sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed.

He only comes to understand that he must be dreaming when he sees a young man's smiling face beaming down at him. "Hello, Mike. It's quite nice to see you." 

Mike sits up. "Where am I?" 

"Home, of course." The young man sits on the side of his bed. He looks to be around twenty-five, if Mike had to guess. "I'm Abraham. Your... 'roomie'?" 

"Ah." Mike rubs his eyes. It doesn't make the young man any less beautiful. "Well, uh, pleased to meet you. Again. For the first time?" 

Abraham laughs good-naturedly. "Properly." He pauses, fussing at a stray curl of hair. "Does it bother you?" he asks at length. 

"Hm?" 

"To be sleeping in another man's bed," Abraham clarifies. 

"Oh. No, not at all. I've done that plenty of times before." 

Abraham visibly relaxes. Mike can't for the life of him figure out why anybody would think that this guy is cursed - if only they could see Abraham like Mike sees him, like a safe haven in a sea of confusion. Abraham seems... gentle. His voice is soothing when he says, "That's wonderful to hear. I was afraid I might've disgusted you." 

"Nothing to be disgusted by. It's pretty normal in this day and age. Uh... my day and age." Mike coughs. "And, uh, sorry to be blunt, but you're really handsome. I don't get why anybody would be put off by you." 

Abraham flushes. "Handsome? Me?" 

"Well... yeah." Mike's skin tingles slightly uncomfortably... but he doesn't mind. Abraham feels safe, and he feels as if he can trust his own intuition on this one. "So this is your bed?" 

"Yes... you're in my room," Abraham says. "It seemed natural that we shared a bed together. And, perhaps, I wanted to share a bed with a man as lovely as you." 

Mike laughs. "I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm well past my prime. Maybe if I was twenty years younger - " 

"No." Abraham places his hand over Mike's. "I like the way you look." His other hand touches Mike's face - but he's so careful with his movements, slow and precise, that Mike isn't upset. "See? You've got crow's feet. It shows that you've laughed often. I love men like that." 

Mike places his hand on Abraham's waist. "So you do, huh." 

"I think we could... have a nice partnership together," Abraham says. "The two of us. If you understand." 

"I usually like when guys say what they mean, but waking up in another guy's bed after he calls you hot isn't exactly subtle." 

Abraham smiles, his curls dark curls falling across his forehead as he leans in. "I think it will be freeing," he breathes, "to be able to be more straightforward, to be able to say what I mean." 

Mike kisses Abraham, sealing the pact between them.


End file.
